


Papa’s Firm Hand

by Island_of_Reil



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Lap Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: “Papa is here to comfort thee… but also to correct thee, as a good father should,” said Berenar. “Dost feel in need of such correction, my darling?”“Yes, Papa,” Maia breathed, his face and ears growing even hotter.“Tell me, michen, why needst Papa’s firm hand.”





	Papa’s Firm Hand

Through the tight, smooth silk of his trousers, Lord Berenar's broad left thigh was warm against Maia's cheek, for the plushly upholstered chair in which the Lord Chancellor took his ease had no arms. The carpet of the Tortoise Room was thick and lush under Maia's knees and shins.

"Papa," Maia said softly, helplessly. 

The term of address had come naturally to his lips, so naturally it frightened him. Surely this was not right, to feel for his trusted tutor in all things political this bewildering mesh of childish adoration and … something even less befitting an emperor? The strength of the adoration alone made Maia's cheeks and ears heat. Berenar, after all, had not begotten him. But Maia could never have imagined calling Varenechibel "Father," let alone "Papa," had his late sire deigned even once to address him directly. _Your Serenity_ — Maia would have been unable to call him aught else. And, for Berenar's part, he had not been blessed with children, had no sons to call his own. Perhaps the gods would countenance this strange association between the two of them, if only out of pity? Turn their faces the other way while they consorted in this chamber, with only the First Nohecharei as impassive witnesses?

He felt each of his tashin sticks being slid gently out of his hair, then the pearl-studded net removed and set aside along with the sticks on the small nearby table. His curls tumbled heavily down over his neck and shoulders, and he shivered at the feel of a broad palm smoothing them.

"Yes, michen. Papa is here for thee," Berenar said, his baritone voice now as soft as a thick winter blanket. Maia sobbed a little as one of Berenar's fingertips brushed the base of his right ear, producing a delicious tightening in his groin.

“Papa is here to comfort thee… but also to correct thee, as a good father should. Dost feel in need of such correction, my darling?”

“Yes, Papa,” Maia breathed, his face and ears growing even hotter.

“Tell me, michen, why needst Papa’s firm hand.”

Maia gulped, pressing his cheek harder against Berenar’s thigh as if it would anchor him. “I … I still do not understand all that is discussed in the Corazhas. Especially finance. Even after all thy patient tutelage.”

Berenar had begun to toy with Maia’s right ear, softly stroking its sensitive inner surface. The gentle yet knowing touch was shooting straight down into Maia’s loins, and his cock could now barely be contained within the silken prison of his trousers. He choked back another sob.

“Go on, darling,” Berenar murmured.

Maia took a deep, shaky breath. “Three mornings ago, during yet another private audience with him, I was curt to the point of impoliteness with Count Hulizhel. I … I almost told him in explicit detail what he could do with his petition.”

Berenar’s chuckle sounded to Maia like a great river rushing over age-smoothed boulders, and he could feel the vibrations of the laughter through his Lord Chancellor’s thigh. “In sooth, someone should. But, yes, this would have been a most improper thing for the Ethuverid Zhas to say, and it should not have been so close to thy lips.”

“I am sorry, Papa,” Maia whimpered, torn between his absurd feeling of dejection at having disappointed Berenar and an almost overwhelming urge to palm his cockstand through his trousers. “I have failed thee.”

“No, my dearest. Wouldst have failed me hadst not confessed these things to me. That is what Papa is here for: to lovingly correct thee, taking this weight from thy shoulders and allowing thee to face thy duties again with a clean slate. Now, rise, and prepare thyself for Papa’s chastisement.”

Maia could not blink back his tears of relief as he stood and, with trembling fingers no longer accustomed to the mundane task, undid the buttons of his flies. He pushed trousers and underwear down to his knees, blushing harder at how his cock sprang out in its abject need and how Berenar studied it with darkening eyes. And with those broad hands gently guiding him — one of which, he knew, would soon be striking his defenseless bare flesh with far less gentleness — he bent and arranged himself facedown upon Berenar’s lap, his hair falling down around his face so that its ends brushed against the carpet.

As his naked cock found an answering hardness beneath the silk of Berenar’s trousers, Maia gasped at the feel of Berenar’s right palm smoothing the mounds of his buttocks, from the small of his back down to the backs of his thighs and upward again. “My michen is so well-made by the gods,” Berenar marveled softly, his voice thickening in a way that did not remind Maia at all of blankets. His hand descended again, his fingertips this time stroking down the cleft. Maia could not keep his hips from wriggling at the intimate, ticklish sensation, which ground his cockstand against Berenar’s through the silk — and then he yelped as Berenar slapped his right buttock sharply.

“Hold still, boy,” Berenar snapped, all indulgence gone from his voice. “This is not for thy pleasure. It is for thine edification. If canst not take thy punishment meetly and with dignity I will double it.”

“Y-yes, Papa,” Maia sobbed. To be ordered hold himself still through such skillful fondling seemed an even worse torment than the imminent thorough buffeting of his backside. What restrained him was the thought that Berenar would be gravely displeased with his lack of self-control. And, Maia thought, his Lord Chancellor would be justified in his displeasure. A properly penitent emperor did not wriggle with his bare bottom in the air like a boy of ill repute advertising for custom, or perhaps a beast in heat, so desperate for gratification. He took the penance coming to him, mastering his rebellious body all the while, then gratefully accepted whatever pleasure his loving chastiser chose to give him — or not.

Berenar kept him waiting a long, long moment. This, too, was even more tortuous than the anticipated fall of his hand. And when that finally came, across the middle of Maia’s left buttock, it was almost a relief. This being the first stroke upon that cheek, the pain was tolerable, a sharp shock that brought Maia’s head up from its hanging position but no more than that.

“That is one,” Berenar said coldly, and even before the words had left his mouth his hand cracked across Maia’s right buttock, slightly lower than where it had struck before. “And that is two.” Maia jolted again but made no sound. He savored this moment of being able to keep his silence, for he knew from prior sessions how very fleeting it was.

The next three blows came one after another — right buttock again, then left, then right. “Three, four, five,” came the stern announcements. Maia greeted each blow, each count, with a soft intake of breath. The repeated strokes upon his sensitized flesh were beginning to kindle a fire in it, sparking an answering heat in his loins. Soon, he knew, both these warmths would erode his will not to squirm. But he would hold firm against them as long as he could.

His resolve did not last very long. As Berenar snapped out the count like a general on a proving-ground, his palm was merciless and hard against Maia’s quivering buttocks, and as he struck their inflamed surfaces again and again the pain began to edge into agony. Maia whimpered, then groaned, each utterance longer and less restrained than the last with each stroke of the Lord Chancellor’s hand. At the twentieth stroke he burst out with, “Papa, please! No more!”

He could hear the rumble of Berenar’s scornful laughter through those solid thighs, as well as the sharper jab of Berenar’s cock against his own cock and thighs through the silk. “Art so tender-skinned, that art sniveling and pleading halfway through a smacking that would not discomfit a schoolboy of ten?” The Lord Chancellor punctuated this taunt with several more slaps, forcing whines out from between Maia’s clenched teeth. “I’d thought the Drazhada made of sterner stuff.”

Maia sobbed, his eyes prickling and his vision blurring as the pain drove his hips into a wobbling gyration, then sobbed again at the renewed, blessed contact of Berenar’s clothed cockstand against his own naked one. Berenar sucked in his breath, then delivered a vicious blow to the lower halves of both buttocks at once that made Maia yelp.

“So tender-skinned, and so wanton,” Berenar chided him, his hand never pausing once. “It would serve thee right were I to discipline thee like this in Untheileian, having first summoned every courtier in Cetho there. Imagine them seeing thee so, Maia, whining and crying like a poorly raised michen, with thy naked behind dancing in the air. Art not ashamed to imagine such a thing?”

“Oh, yes, Papa,” Maia whimpered, tears now flowing freely down his face and running into his hair. He was in sooth ashamed to imagine such a scenario, as well as ashamed at Berenar’s disappointment in his self-control. But, too, he was excited at the picture painted by Berenar’s words, and ashamed of his excitement. Between this and the fiery heat in his backside, he could not for the love of all the gods cease his wriggling, though he knew as Berenar had implied that he must look positively obscene with it.

After perhaps the fortieth stroke, Berenar’s hand at last stilled upon Maia’s buttocks. Then he began to rub them again, smoothing their stinging contours gently, and Maia sobbed both with relief that his punishment had ended and with shameful desperation at how the softer, teasing touch was honing his arousal to a feverous pitch.

“Such a good boy,” Berenar murmured, deep and throaty. “With such a beautifully punished bottom, like a pair of dark, ripe plums. I must confess, I have tested thee greatly this time, dealing thee so many blows. And didst offer thyself up for them so meekly. I should not have taunted thee for crying out or moving. Wouldst like Papa to solace thee?”

“Oh, yes, please, Papa,” Maia choked out through his tears.

“Then stand for a moment, and let me arrange myself that I might do so.”

Maia rose shakily, letting wide fingers brush errant curls out of his eyes before they guided and steadied him once again. The moment Maia was on his feet, Berenar’s fingers went to the fastenings of his trousers and undid them swiftly. His cock jutted insistently, only average in length but impressively thick, the veins of its shaft standing out in bold relief. “Now, michen,” Berenar whispered, “have thy reward.”

Berenar’s shoulders spanned nearly the entire width of the chair's back, but Maia braced his hands as best he could on either side of them as he swung his legs around Berenar’s hips. Berenar’s right palm, as warmed by the punishment as Maia’s buttocks had been, seemed to scorch the cool expanses of Maia’s left hip and thigh as he drew Maia in. And then both their cocks were emcompassed by that wide and unbearably warm grip.

“Papa,” Maia gasped, overwhelmed by the heat, by the caress of smooth silk against his smarting buttocks, by the friction afforded by Berenar’s steadily pumping hand, by the rich scent of masculine attar tinged with fresh sweat, by those bright hawklike eyes so close to his own. “Papa,” he echoed with a sob in his voice. There were no other words in his head or on his tongue, only this one, heavy with adoration and gratitude and awe.

“Michen,” Berenar murmured as he pulled Maia’s head closer to his own. His lips were as gentle as his hand had been severe, but they brooked no resistance as they parted Maia’s to admit the Lord Chancellor’s delving tongue. Maia touched his own to it, acquiescent, accepting, letting the kiss repress his whimper as the heads of their cocks began to slide together deliciously in the wetness of their combined early seed.

He began to tremble no more than seconds later, his ballocks pulling in, his cock spasming against Berenar’s. Gasping, he pulled his face away, his fingernails nearly rending the upholstery. “Papa —” The word was a cry this time. “I’m —”

“Yes, darling,” Berenar whispered against Maia’s mouth. “Spend for thy Papa.”

Maia cried out again as his climax wrung him like a rag-doll, sending his seed cascading over Berenar’s still-moving hand. Overcome, he flung his arms about Berenar and buried his face against his jacket. Its silk was warm against his cheek, and beneath it he could feel the engine of Berenar’s heart and the bellows of his lungs as they labored to bring him to his own peak. Berenar attained it with a ragged gasp that deepened into a groan; his own cock twitched against Maia’s and added to the flow of seed.

“Hold tight to the chair back, darling,” Berenar said hoarsely, and Maia obeyed, though most of his strength had seemed to leave him. The Lord Chancellor shifted, and then there was more warm silk being applied to Maia’s tear-streaked face, then to his half-softened cock. He whimpered anew.

“Shh, shh, michen,” Berenar soothed him, kissing his forehead through the tendrils of damp curls plastered to it. “Let Papa cleanse thee thoroughly. Even thine edocharei have not earned such a privilege, have they?”

Maia shook his head, still too overcome for words. An emperor’s edocharei might do for him things that a common boy would have learned to do for himself by the age of four. But, emperor or not, Maia could not imagine asking Avris, Nemer, or Esha to tend to him in the aftermath of the occasions when he took himself in hand behind the curtains of the great bed. His knowledge that they would inevitably spy a shameful pale stain on his bedlinens or nightshirt from time to time was as much as he could bear. Yet he felt no shame now as Berenar gently dabbed all traces of seed from Maia’s cock, his own cock, his right hand, and even a few stray drops that had trickled onto their thighs.

With practiced movements, Berenar crumpled his handkerchief so as to contain its seed, then set it on the small table. Then he took up Maia’s hairnet and tashin sticks again. Though he did not do so with the artistry that Nemer would have displayed, within a moment he had restored Maia’s coiffure to a semblance of propriety. “Now rise again and cover thyself decently,” he commanded, albeit with an indulgent note. Maia stood, and though he still felt as though he were floating in Anmura’s heavens, he was able to pull up and refasten his garments with unshaking hands.

“There,” Berenar said, beaming with a pride that left Maia dizzied with humility. Would Varenechibel ever have smiled at him so? “In sooth, wilt require the defter touch of an edocharis before thou canst leave the Alcethmeret again. But in all ways that matter, my darling michen now looks as he should: a proper, dignified emperor who has bravely borne his punishment and may now guide his empire again with a clean and easy heart.” He took both of Maia’s hands in his own. “And what does he say to his Papa, who has made him so?”

“Thank thee, Papa,” Maia whispered.

“Art welcome, darling,” Berenar said with a squeeze of Maia’s hands and one last kiss to his forehead.


End file.
